Confined
by Ancalime8301
Summary: Dark!Holmes discovers he likes Watson pregnant and sets out to ensure that he remains so at any cost. Warnings: sexual abuse, non-con, domestic violence, mpreg, miscarriage, child death


Written for the shkinkmeme prompt: _Holmes gets Watson pregnant._

_After Watson has given birth, Holmes finds that doesn't like Watson without a baby in him...If there's not a baby in Watson, Holmes isn't happy...so he gets Watson pregnant again and again._

_It's never enough._

__**Warnings:** sexual abuse, non-con, domestic violence, mpreg, miscarriage, child death

* * *

_Confined_

Watson had been surprised and pleased by Holmes' behavior during his pregnancy. Once Holmes got used to the idea that they were having a baby-neither of them had planned on that-he became fiercely protective and extremely solicitous toward Watson, almost frustratingly so. Watson had to assure him repeatedly that he was still quite capable of dressing himself, and that was before he was even visibly pregnant while wearing his clothes.

More than anything, Holmes was fascinated-captivated-by Watson's belly. He was constantly touching it, caressing it, measuring it, pressing his ear against it, and pressing kisses to it. He was generous with his affection to Watson generally, but the bulk of his attention was now devoted to Watson's growing abdomen, and Watson took advantage of this by having Holmes rub lotion or oil over his belly as it became ever larger and the skin drew taut under the strain.

Watson found he did not mind Holmes' attentiveness, especially as his time drew near and it became awkward and tiring to do some things himself. Holmes was only too happy to oblige him, and at night Holmes would see to his other needs, his enthusiasm demonstrating that he found Watson exceedingly desirable, even in that state.

Everything seemed perfect, and then the baby was born.

Holmes began to behave strangely within a week of the birth. He had never appeared comfortable holding their son, but now he refused to do so at all. When the baby was nursing, Holmes would stand in the doorway of the bedroom and watch with an expression close to disapproval. In bed, Holmes would press himself up against Watson's back and caress Watson's stomach with both hands while kissing Watson's nape. Watson particularly didn't like that part, feeling self-conscious about how flabby his stomach looked and felt in the aftermath of his pregnancy, but it seemed to make Holmes happy, so he reluctantly allowed it.

Their child was only a month old when Holmes started to make comments about when they would have the next one. Watson tried to brush him off whenever he mentioned it, protesting that he wasn't physically ready to have another child. Inwardly he was concerned about Holmes' lack of interest in their son and worried that becoming pregnant again-and so soon!-wouldn't help matters.

Soon Watson's verbal resistance wasn't enough and he had to physically push Holmes away when he would try to make advances. Holmes would come up behind him as he settled the baby into his crib after a feeding, wrap his arms around Watson's waist and kiss and nip his neck, his ear, his jaw. It was difficult to resist, as Holmes knew exactly how to make him feel like he never wanted it to stop, but his exhaustion reminded him that he could not handle both an infant and early pregnancy. So he would stand firm, unwind Holmes' arms from his waist, kiss him on the lips, and gently coax him into agreeing to postpone things until he was a little more recovered.

After three instances of this within a week, Holmes backed off a little and returned to his solicitous self, fetching Watson a sandwich when it was mealtime and he was nursing the baby, drawing a bath for Watson and minding the baby while he soaked, even picking up the baby when he fussed so Watson could rest a little longer. Watson was almost certain Holmes was doing this so he'd agree to have sex again, but somehow he didn't mind.

He was right. It wasn't long before Holmes renewed his amorous advances, and this time, Watson let him. He was willing to reward Holmes' good behavior and judged it unlikely that he would conceive again so quickly.

Watson was pregnant again by the time their son was six months old.

It was just as exhausting as he'd expected, but now that Holmes had gotten what he'd wanted, he was back to being overly eager to do anything and everything he could to ensure Watson's well being, so it was not an unpleasant outcome.

In fact, Holmes seemed more pleased than he had the first time. He was again obsessed with Watson's stomach, so no doubt some of his pleasure derived from the fact that this pregnancy was visible earlier than the first had been. But he was more careful this time to shower all of Watson with attention until Watson could not be unhappy. Holmes loved him and had given him proof of that love in the child he bore, he loved their son (though he still wondered about Holmes' apathy), so what was there to be worried about?

Everything.

He was within a month of delivering their second child when Holmes announced they were moving to the country. Holmes reasoned that there wasn't sufficient room in their Baker Street flat to accommodate their growing family and had, unbeknownst to Watson, gone out and purchased an estate in Sussex. He had also hired a local woman to be nanny for their son.

Watson was aghast. He had attributed Holmes' absences to his work-obviously Watson couldn't accompany him in his condition-and was astonished that Holmes would make such decisions without even mentioning the possibility to Watson. Though that really shouldn't astonish him at all; he knew Holmes too well to be surprised and yet he was.

He protested that he could not be expected to pack up and move mere weeks before their baby was due. Holmes waved this away with the explanation that he'd also hired movers. They would be coming the next day.

Watson collapsed into his armchair in shock and winced as their son toddled over to a precarious stack of books and pushed them over with a squeal of delight. Holmes scowled and picked him up and, holding him at arm's length, deposited him in Watson's lap.

The following afternoon they were on a southbound train with two suitcases that Watson had hurriedly packed that morning and a box of baby things. That night Watson went to sleep in a thoroughly unfamiliar four-poster bed and felt like he was being boxed in.

Stress from the precipitous move sent him into early labor and he was confined to bed for a fortnight in hopes that the baby would turn itself into the proper birthing position of its own accord before labor began in earnest.

Fortunately she did and this labor went more quickly than the first. It turned out that the nanny was also a midwife, and she ably assisted him in birthing his daughter.

Holmes seemed taken with the idea of a daughter, and for a few days Watson breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it would all work out after all.

This time Holmes barely waited a fortnight before he renewed his advances once more.

Watson held him at bay as long as he could, but Holmes grew impatient, insisting that he just needed to feel Watson around him, that it wasn't about a baby. When Watson remained firm, Holmes punished him by preventing him from seeing anyone but Holmes and their daughter and refusing to do anything for him so that Watson felt isolated and neglected, and Watson began to understand the more insidious reason for dragging him out to the country: there was no one he could go to, no one he could confide in. He felt utterly defeated.

He gave in. Again.

He was pregnant a scant three months after the birth of his daughter.

Watson had never felt so weak and ill as he did in the early months of this newest pregnancy, so he was not overly surprised when it turned out to be twins. His stomach swelled quickly and he felt constantly tired and achy from the strain of pregnancy and continuing to nurse their daughter.

Holmes was ecstatic. He showered Watson with gifts and lavished him with loving caresses, stroking Watson's belly possessively and murmuring, "Mine."

In his sixth month Watson was confined to bed to forestall labor until the twins were larger; Holmes happily waited on him hand and foot, even bringing him the baby when she needed to nurse. Watson wondered if this time would be the one that brought peace and happiness to their household, for surely there must be a point at which Holmes was finally satisfied.

The twins arrived early, as expected, but the labor was not hard so much as it was long and Watson didn't think he'd ever been so exhausted as he was when it was finally over. And yet he was proud of himself; he had now borne Holmes two sons and two daughters. He held one newborn in each arm and thought himself fulfilled.

As soon as Watson's body began to recover from this latest birth, his stomach losing some of its volume-though he thought ruefully he would never be the same again-Holmes was again broaching the subject of another child.

This time Watson was having none of it. "I have given you four children in the last three years. Isn't that enough?"

"No," Holmes said flatly, his eyes dark with anger. "This is not about children, this is about you. And I have decided I much prefer you with my child in your belly."

"So you want me pregnant constantly, is that it?"

Holmes grinned unpleasantly. "Yes."

"The human body isn't made to endure that," Watson said desperately.

"You've done admirably so far," Holmes replied, advancing slowly toward where Watson lay in the bed.

Watson tried to edge away, but Holmes could move more quickly. Holmes knelt astride his hips and cruelly held his wrists high above his head.

"I will have you if I have to tie you down to do it," Holmes growled, then kissed him bruisingly hard and bit his lip until it bled.

Watson writhed beneath him, ineffectually tugging his wrists to free them from Holmes' grasp, and crying out as he felt Holmes grinding against him. "No!"

Holmes backhanded him and, while he was stunned from the blow, used his braces to lash Watson's wrists to the headboard. Once upon a time Watson had idly noted the vertical rungs of the headboard resembled bars on a jail cell; now he realized how imprisoned he truly was.

It was rough but quick, Holmes evidently having been very excited by their argument, and Watson did not resist. When Holmes was sated, he lay atop Watson and nuzzled at Watson's chest, touching his tongue to the leaking nipples, then sucking gently.

Watson groaned with conflicting feelings of arousal and disgust. It felt good to have an experienced mouth suckling and gently biting, but now he could never nurse his children without thinking of Holmes' mouth on him. The thought nearly broke him, for he loved his children dearly despite the abuse heaped upon him by their father.

Holmes suckled on Watson long enough to become hard and again thrust to climax within him, Watson still unresisting. His hands and his heart were growing numb.

When the twins were six months old, Watson had a miscarriage.

Holmes was furious. His hand on Watson's neck in a not-so-subtle threat, he demanded to know how Watson could have let it happen.

"I told you the human body was not made to endure constant pregnancy," he said as evenly as he could manage.

Holmes' jaw clenched and, for a brief moment, Watson was certain he was about to die. His only worry was what would happen to the children after his death.

But the moment passed and Holmes did nothing more than storm from the room and, as it turned out, from the house. He disappeared for nearly two weeks.

It was the best two weeks of Watson's life.

He spent most of his waking hours in the part of the house where his older son and daughter lived with the nanny. He'd barely seen them since before the twins were born, his time afterward having been devoted to the two demanding newborns, and it was a delight to see how they'd grown. They took to him quite quickly, happily calling him Daddy, and his elder son was fascinated by the twins. His elder daughter liked to sit in his lap and play with his hands, proudly talking to him with all the words she knew.

While the children napped, he and the nanny had some time to talk. She had always been kind to him, and they worked well together during his labors. Once she'd recognized he was not like Holmes in his regard for the children, she had done all she could to ensure he saw them regularly or at least received news of their welfare when he could not visit the playroom, though Holmes could and sometimes did forbid her from entering Watson's part of the house or prevent Watson from leaving his rooms.

She had sensed some of Watson's miseries though he dared not breathe a word of it, for her first statement to him when they were alone was, "You must take your babies and leave him."

The thought had crossed his mind, but to hear her say it was chilling. "I can't, Emilie, not right now. They're too young to travel far."

"It will be harder when those two start walking," she pointed out.

"But where would we go? You are the only person I know here, and I have no family to go to."

"I can help you. I have relatives all over the county."

Watson hesitated, looking at the peacefully sleeping children on the quilt. "With any luck, he won't come back," he said lamely.

"He will be back. You must be the one to leave. The sooner the better, while you still can."

When Watson did not answer, she patted his hand. "Think about it. I will help you, whatever you decide."

"Leaving would only make it worse," Watson said slowly. "He will find us, no matter where we go or what we do to hide, and then he will be angry, utterly furious, because I dared to leave. I don't want to guess what he would do then."

"He is a hard man," she agreed. "But for the sake of your babies, you should try."

Watson's heart was heavy, but as he spoke he knew that what he said was the absolute truth. "I would rather send them away to ensure their safety and remain here myself. The children mean nothing to him, so I do not think he would react much to their absence."

She studied his face, then nodded sombrely. "I will see to it."

The rest of the time that Holmes was away, Watson treasured every moment with his son and daughter.

Watson became aware of Holmes' return when he woke up in the middle of the night and found Holmes was atop him and inside him and he shuddered as Holmes kissed him with exaggerated tenderness. "I didn't want to wake you, so I thought I'd just go ahead and take care of this," he said into Watson's ear, thrusting his hips forward for emphasis.

Watson bit the inside of his cheek and screwed his eyes closed, willing it to be over quickly. Holmes finished just as one of the twins started crying, so Holmes grunted and extricated himself, then left while Watson tended to the baby. Watson thanked his daughter for granting him a reprieve for the rest of the night.

Despite Holmes' best (and oft-repeated) efforts, Watson did not conceive again for nearly six months. When he did, he constantly felt unwell and frequently took to his bed partway through the day.

His eldest son "vanished" just after he turned four, when Watson was about six months into his latest gestation. Holmes accepted the nanny's story that he had wandered off while she'd had the children outside and she could not find him despite a frantic search that had involved all of their nearest neighbors. "That's a shame," he commented, then returned to reading the paper. Watson knew the boy had been spirited away to Emilie's cousin a few towns away, but his grieving was convincing (and truly he grieved, for he wasn't sure he would see the boy again) and Holmes didn't suspect a thing.

This baby, another daughter, was born early and with much trial. The labor was long and with an excess of bleeding and the tiny girl was blue from the cord wrapped around her neck. When she did breathe it was with difficulty, her lungs having had an inadequate time to develop in the womb.

She lived for three days and Watson was relieved when she breathed her last.

The petite box was buried behind the house. Holmes made a show of consoling Watson, but Watson knew he was pleased that he'd gotten to enjoy Watson's pregnancy without having another mouth to feed at the end of it. It made him almost angry enough to do something to defy Holmes.

He almost didn't know what to do with himself once he'd recovered from the strenuous labor. For the first time since this began he wasn't busily nursing an infant-the twins were nearly two years old now-and he actually had the option of going outside and lazing about in the sunshine or spending uninterrupted hours in the playroom with the three remaining children. His eldest daughter would soon be doing a vanishing act of her own, Emilie promised.

He thought about leaving, especially right after he'd had a visit from Holmes (which sometimes occurred multiple times a day), but he was still stuck on the problem of where to go that Holmes couldn't find him. To make matters more confusing, Holmes seemed to have mellowed a bit since his dramatic two-week disappearance. He was kinder to Watson outside of the bedroom and even chatted amiably with him when they sat by the fire after dinner.

But in bed he was adamant that Watson must bear him another child and became frustrated with Watson to the point of striking him over the fact that he hadn't yet conceived again.

As if on cue, the now-familiar symptoms began anew.

This time he was given a reprieve: the pregnancy was easy and the labor quite short, and at the end he had a beautiful, healthy daughter.

Two more daughters followed in quick succession. His eldest daughter was spirited away to Emilie's niece when she was almost four, and the twins followed when the youngest daughter was born. Holmes was too focused on Watson to care that the number of youngsters in his house remained roughly the same no matter how many times Watson gave birth. Watson slipped Emilie extra money and food whenever he could manage it to help with the support of his four "missing" children.

When the newest daughter was about five months old (and Watson suspected he was pregnant yet again, though it was still very early), a frantic Emilie woke him one morning to tell him the two girls in her care were very ill. They'd both had colds for about two weeks, but now both were coughing frequently and having trouble breathing.

Watson hurried to tend them, but there was very little he could do. He and Emilie remained with them night and day; he even had Emilie find a wet nurse for the baby so he wouldn't make her sick as well. That turned out to be one of the best decisions he'd ever made.

Both toddlers were not faring well when Holmes stormed into the sickroom and grabbed Watson's neck from the back and squeezed. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed into Watson's ear.

"I'm trying to help our daughters, Holmes," Watson said coldly. "I am still a doctor."

Holmes fisted his other hand in Watson's hair and dragged him off the bed he was perched on, pushing him into the hall and slamming the door behind them. "You do not wander off without my permission," Holmes scolded, clenching his hand around Watson's wrist and dragging him back toward his bedroom. "You must be available whenever I should want you."

Watson was tired from his vigil and heartsick from the knowledge that one or both of those girls could die, so he could only stumble along behind Holmes without really resisting. When they reached his bedroom and Holmes tossed him onto the bed, Watson prepared himself for what would inevitably follow.

He didn't see the handcuffs until it was too late. Holmes cuffed one of his wrists to his headboard and stepped back, looking quite satisfied. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.

Watson stared after him in shock, but when he didn't reappear for a half hour, he settled down as comfortably as he could and slept.

When he awoke-possibly even the next morning-Holmes still hadn't returned, or had returned and left again. His stomach growled and his breasts were overfull and aching from not feeding. (There was a time when he hesitated to call them "breasts", but now he'd nursed seven babies and that was the only word that really fit.) He carefully squeezed each one just a bit to release some of the tension, and idly thought that it was a shame he couldn't solve his own hunger problem that way.

He dozed off again and was roused by Holmes climbing onto the bed. Holmes was staring at his shirt and the wet spots at his chest and smirking. Watson took a deep breath and steeled himself as Holmes unbuttoned his shirt and began licking leaking milk from his nipples. He didn't stop there, of course; he latched on and sucked Watson nearly dry on both sides as if he were one of their babies.

Holmes exaggeratedly licked his lips as he moved from one side to the other; Watson shuddered and looked away. As Holmes drank, he caressed Watson's stomach and rubbed his groin against Watson's thigh, slowly unfastening his own clothing and moving into position between Watson's legs as he finished the second side. He thrust lazily into Watson and moved his mouth from Watson's nipples to Watson's mouth, kissing him softly and tenderly as he made short thrusts with his hips and spent inside him.

When Holmes finally pulled himself off Watson, he didn't even bother to fix his clothing before he reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a tray of food. "I thought you might be hungry," he said with a predatory smile.

Watson's stomach growled and Holmes laughed. Holmes refused to let him feed himself and insisted upon giving him each bite until Watson was uncomfortably full and the tray was empty. Evidently Holmes enjoyed this so much that he had to have Watson again and rubbed and kneaded Watson's aching stomach until Watson thought he was going to throw up (he managed not to). Holmes left him alone again after that.

That became the routine, executed three times a day like clockwork. Sometimes Holmes would unlock him long enough for him to bathe or use the toilet, but there were days that he was forced to soil the bed and then clean it up afterward.

Watson felt somewhat unwell two days after he was forced away from his daughters, but he dismissed it as a mild cold and the effects of eating far too much. Two weeks later he began coughing with such force that he did throw up several times after Holmes fed him, and Holmes was disgusted enough to force him to lie in the mess for hours before he had Emilie clean it up.

The first time he realized that it was Emilie helping him off the bed, he asked hoarsely, "The girls?"

"They are in a better place," she said softly. "The baby is still with the wet nurse."

Watson sighed. It was what he'd feared, but as she said, it was better for them.

At some point while he had his cough, he began to bleed. He couldn't be sure whether it was the monthly flow or a miscarriage, but to Holmes it didn't matter. It was a sign he had failed again. He was duly punished by not being released from the bed for any reason for three messy, miserable days.

Weeks passed before the cough began to clear up. In that time Holmes apparently learned his lesson and significantly cut back the size of Watson's meals, which also should have had the effect of curbing his milk supply. But Holmes' regular stimulation of his breasts kept him producing just as much as before and he guessed this was just another way that Holmes was trying to control him and his body.

Watson remained handcuffed to his bed until he had conceived and his stomach had begun to swell outward once again.

This time, Holmes decided that Watson's belly should always be on display, so he took away all of Watson's shirts, nightshirts, and any other article of clothing that was worn on the top half of the body. It was winter at the time, so that also meant Watson was restricted to the house.

Watson resigned himself to this as he did everything before, and wrapped himself in quilts and afghans when Holmes was not present. Emilie brought the baby back from the wet nurse and urged him again to leave, but he resisted.

His fear of what Holmes would do to him if he left kept him tethered just as effectively as the handcuff on the bed.

Perhaps at some point his fear of what Holmes would do to him if he stayed would outweigh it. Then he would go.


End file.
